


it's better than nothing and that's what we are

by infamousplot



Category: Fate Stay Night, Fate/stay night, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, fate - Fandom, fate series
Genre: M/M, drunk roof sex, trashy assholes in a trashy ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infamousplot/pseuds/infamousplot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think too highly of yourself. You need to learn your place."<br/>"And where would that be?" Cu wants to summon Gae Bolg, but Gilgamesh's vibes are spilling out without stop, smothering his magic circuits. He feels light and fuzzy, a strange rush in his veins. He has never been this close to another demigod before, someone so powerful. It's terrifying and exhilerating and he has no idea what will happen next, but god damn, he wants it to. Whatever it is. Cu is ready to live again, ready to fight for his life or die trying.<br/>Gil starts to smile again, leaning down close. His breath it hot against Cu's face, falling down over his lips.<br/>"Beneath me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's better than nothing and that's what we are

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in fearthesillypeople's Alternate Timeline AU. Think of it as an extension of the Unlimited Blade Works Route, except for some reason no one is dead. Which happens to be the driving point of the plot. But not for this fic. No. This is Gilgamesh/Lancer smut. Enjoy. Ship gilcu. Join the trash cult.

It’s probably midnight, but Cu isn’t really sure, because he didn’t bring up anything to tell time with. He’s on the roof of the church, crunched up beer cans and dying cigarettes littering the space around him, and the starry sky is swirling violently up above. When Cu drinks, he _drinks,_ and lately he doesn’t stop until he can’t feel anything. There are still some full cans in the cooler, and he’s pretty sure Kotomine has already gone to sleep, so it doesn’t look like anyone is going to come out to drag him down.

 Good. He doesn’t want to be in there anyway. He’ll gladly sleep on the roof, under the trees and stars. Maybe then he can pretend he isn’t stuck in this hellhole of a church.

He hears the sound of footsteps against wooden stairs and groans, closing his eyes as the hatch in the attic opens up. He’s expecting Kotomine to appear and bitch him out for hiding, not doing his expected chores after another long day of working his ass off for someone else for minimum wage, but instead e is greeted by none other than the Douche of Heroes.

The golden man steps out into the cool night, that stupid ass coat ruffling in the breeze. He stands there for a moment, looking out into the dark, before plopping down next to him with a loud sigh.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Cu growls, but he’s drunk as fuck, so it comes out sounding something like “Shn’t yubee sleep?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Gilgamesh replies. Somehow he manages to squeeze fifty gallons of pure condescension into just one tiny sentence, and Cu wonders if it’s even possible for him to speak without sounding like an arrogant asshole. Probably not. 

There’s a faint orange light that filters from behind, and when Cu looks up he sees Gil pulling what looks like a bottle of wine from the Gates of Babylon. He bites out the cork with his teeth and lets it fall. Cu watches it roll down the roof, disappearing into the dark. Gil does not bother with a glass, he takes the bottle in his lips and guzzles it, thin streams of read leaking from the corners of his mouth. It dribbles down the sides of his face, then down his neck. Cu can see each gulp he takes bulging in his throat.

 “Can I have some?” He asks, words still slurred. Gilgamesh pauses for a second, surprise glinting in his eyes for all of one second before they narrow slyly.

 “What makes you think I would share my treasures with a mutt like you?” He asks, and Cu was right, he really can’t talk without stuffing his mouth full of dickish remarks.

 “I’m sharing my airspace with you.” Cu tries to snark, but it just sounds dumb in this drunken state. It probably sounds dumb sober, too. He forces himself to sit up, crushing a cigarette against the shingles, and Gilgamesh laughs.

 “Your airspace is already mine,” He smirks, taking another swig from the bottle. It’s a nice one, crystalline and skinny, perfect for showing off the blood red color. Cu has never been a big fan of wine but if he will ever say one nice thing about Gilgamesh, it’s that his taste in liquor is sublime. “Everything-”

“Ev’rythin is yers, the sky an’ the moon an’ the worms, I get it.” Cu spits, somewhere between a groan and a snarl, and his head hurts as he turns to look at Gilgamesh. He really does look stupid in that coat, with the fur trim and the spiked up hair. He looks like some sort of pimp, and the flashy jewelry doesn’t help at all. Cu grabs a can from the cooler and tosses it at him, grinning when he flinches just a little as he tries to catch it. “Gimme some of yours an’ I’ll give you some of mine.”

 “Why would I want your cheap gas station liquor?” Gilgamesh scoffs, holding the can like it’s full of cockroaches. Cu is already reaching for the bottle, mouth watering. He wants the nice warm sting in his mouth, the burning in his throat. Liquor is wonderful. It’s bitter and sweet and it sears away the terrible reminders that when he wakes up tomorrow, he will still be here.

“Off, dog!” Gilgamesh crows, smacking his head with the bottle, hardly hard enough to leave a bruise. It sloshes, contents splashing about, and Cu manages to sit himself up enough to get his teeth around its mouth, the red liquid spilling down his throat. Gilgamesh makes an angry sound, some comment that involves the word mongrel, and now Cu has the bottle. It's smooth and cold and it fits so nicely in his hand, it tastes like shit but that's how wine is meant to be right? As long as it gives him that buzz he doesn't really care.

Gilgamesh rips it away from him, leaving a little red trail dripping from Cu's lips, and Cu laughs, wiping it off.

"Your wine is shitty." He says, flopping back down to stare at the sky. Gilgamesh scoffs.

"I keep only the most valuable of concoctions within my treasury." He boasts, or maybe reminds, Cu can't tell.

"I know. Your concoctions are just shitty." Cu is positive he just butchered the word 'concoctions', and now he's giggling. He is going to be seriously hungover tomorrow. He doesn’t want to think about how much worse it will make listening to Kotomine’s voice. "Why're you up here anyway?" He asks, reaching for a cigarette. The box is empty. He curses quietly. Gilgamesh has emptied the bottle now, and he tosses it out into the night, a content look on his face as the quiet shatter reaches their ears.

"Bored." He replies. His reasoning for doing anything. Gilgamesh is so easily bored. Cu knows the feeling. He hates his work and he hates his Master. Most of his free time is spent working different jobs. He's busy, yeah, but it's all so stifling. He'd rather be out fighting.

Gilgamesh has all the time in the world, but Kirei doesn't make him do anything. He's the king. He does whatever the fuck he wants. There's only so much to do though, and Gilgamesh is running out of things to fill his time. So he spends it doing things like this- harassing Lancer, "the dog", making his life just a little bit more awful.

Cu can’t stand him. Him and his stupid, pretty face, that awful smirk and those flashy clothes, always right there. Walking around like he own the whole damn universe, and nobody is worth his time. Cu wants to push him off a roof, use those fancy chains of his to leave him dangling from a skyscraper. Cu wants to fight him. To finally have a chance to use all of his power and go all out. He wants to know how long he would last, one on one, against another demigod, one so above his level. He’d probably die, but it’d be better than lying here getting shitfaced. It’d be better than pretty much anything right about now.

He’s so sick of everyone treating him like some dumb animal. He was the Hound of Ulster, and now he’s some fake priest’s errand boy. They used to name places after the way he’d killed people there, and now, he works at a grocery store. The entire war was spent not doing a damn thing, and now there’s no one to fight. So he’s stuck sitting on some rooftop in the middle of Japan, miles and miles away from the land he called home, desperately craving the attention of the biggest asshole in existence, because in this entire city there is no one else he can begin to relate to. The only people he had any respect for have long since left, fled to England, away from this madness. It’s just him, and the priest, and the world’s most glamorous douchebag, and no matter what Cu draws he’s stuck with the short stick.

He just wants a little recognition. A little dignity. He wants Gilgamesh to look at him and see an opponent that is worthy of fighting him, someone who deserves respect, who poses a threat. Cu wants him to think that he’s worth his time. He’s tired of always wondering where he stands with Gilgamesh. They are in that beautiful zone known as an alliance, and Cu knows better than anyone that just because you work alongside someone doesn’t mean you have to like each other. But they aren’t enemies and they aren’t friends, yet there is clearly more than just indifference there. Hatred isn’t all it takes to make a man an enemy, but Cu is pretty sure you aren’t supposed to hate your friends, so just what the hell is Gilgamesh to him? It’s bad enough wondering what he is in Gil’s eyes when he doesn’t even know what to call the man himself.

Gilgamesh is infuriating. That’s something. He’s infuriating and he’s attractive. That’s another. And he is attractive, despite the smugness that he practically oozes. His face is smooth and nicely shaped, his hair feathery and groomed in a way that just makes Cu want to pet it. He has a nice body too. Not too muscular, but enough to fill out that dumb shirt and jacket. He carries himself with a certainty that Cu has not seen even in the haughtiest of warriors, but that confidence can be somewhat awe inspiring- especially when the man makes the effort to show that he’s more than just hot air. Gilgamesh is a person whose mere presence can be enough to make a room fall still with fear, but there is something about that that Cu finds kind of amazing. His grin either makes you want to turn tail and run, or punch him square in the jaw, and Cu can never decide what to do.

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” Gilgamesh chuckles, glancing at him, and Cu realizes that he’s probably been staring at him for awhile now. He scowls.

“Feck off,” Cu slurs, eyes narrowed. Pretty or not, Cu is sick of his shit, through and through. He wishes he still had that wine bottle so he could smash it over his head.

Gilgamesh’s eyes widen, slightly, then narrow, a wicked smirk spreading across his face.

“Is that so?” He sneers. Cu blinks. And realizes. That he just said that last part out loud. He’s more drunk than he thought.

“Yeah.” He replies brilliantly, trying to stare the man down, despite the fact that he can’t even see straight. He’s trying to get on his feet now, because fuck it, he’s serious. Plastered or not he wants a fight, a brawl to end all brawls. He’ll probably die. Kotomine will have to get someone to clean him off the side of the church tomorrow. Cu doesn’t care though.

Gilgamesh glances at him for all of a second before turning away, looking out over the roof with the same smirk plastered to his face. He chuckles, but does not speak. Cu waits, and he waits, until he realizes Gilgamesh isn’t going to respond. Then he growls.

“That wasn’t a joke, asshat.” He prods the man with his foot, hard enough that Gilgamesh nearly falls, and then he looks at Cu, eyes red as his wine, amused.

“So you’ve finally lost your mind, have you? I knew it would go eventually, but I’d hoped you would have held on longer.” He sighs airily, and Cu’s growl grows louder, his teeth bared. He grabs the ruff of that stupid coat and drags Gilgamesh up, shoving him a few feet before pulling out Gae Bolg. The spear glows into existence as the golden man staggers back, actual real surprise in his eyes, and gods yes, this is what Cu want. He wants that shock, that realization that he means business. Gilgamesh stares at him. His eyes become slits.

The airs bristles with tension, crackling so loud Cu can almost hear it. It’s overpowering, and it takes everything he has not to launch forward right now- when Gilgamesh starts to laugh.

“You want to fight me?” He cackles, eying the spear like it’s nothing more than a toothpick. He pushes the point down with a finger, smirking up at Cu through half-lidded eyes. “You think you’re a worthy match for me?” He touches his hand to his chest, either gesturing to himself or feigning offense. “You hardly deserve to breathe in my presence, much less consider yourself an opponent.”

Cu glowers at him, moving the spear back to his neck. Gilgamesh grabs the shaft immediately, shoving it back and jerking it to the side, bowling Cu over with ease. Just like that, Cu is on his back, the red spear-tip gently kissing the skin of his throat. Gilgamesh stands over him, smiling wickedly. Cu grabs at the spear, trying to push it back, but it hardly moves. Something a bit like panic has wormed its way into his consciousness, as the realization that he might actually die rather pathetically up here on the roof starts to sober him up.

“Bad dog.” Gil tsks, shaking his head. “I would have thought you’d learned your place by now.”

“I’m going to rip your throat out-” Cu seethes, ignoring the fact that between the two of them, he the only one in position to have his throat ripped out. He wants to resummon Gae Bolg and turn the tables, but suddenly the spear is gone. He thinks he sees the arch of red as it sails off into the trees, but he can’t be sure. Gilgamesh is on top of him now, hands wrapped firmly around his neck, thumbs pressing ever so slightly into his throat. Shadows are cast over the man’s face, demigod eyes seeming to glow in the dark. Cu breathes carefully.

“Quiet, dog.” Gilgamesh says. He is smiling coldly, back arched as he looms over him, legs pinning his arms to his sides. Cu feels strangely cold, though his heart is beating faster than it has in awhile.

“I’m not a dog,” He rasps, air a luxury he can no longer afford, and Gilgamesh cracks an amused grin. Cuchulainn can see himself in those wine-red eyes, and in them, he is nothing. He is a gnat, a speck of dust. He is not worth the effort.

“You can say that all you want, but it doesn’t change a thing.” Gilgamesh sneers, leaning down closer. “A rose is a rose, a mutt is a mutt. You are nothing but a mangy mongrel.”

“Then why don’t you just kill me already?” Cu asks. The alcohol has drifted out of his voice, leaving his words strong and clear. He stares up at Gilgamesh, a challenge burning from his eyes, and Gilgamesh’s narrow slightly, a scowl forming on his lips.

“Do you honestly believe you are worth that much energy?” He drawls, unamused. “You think too highly of yourself. You need to learn your place.”

“And where would that be?” Cu spits. He wants to summon his spear, but Gilgamesh’s power is spilling out of him, smothering Cu’s magic circuits. He feels light and fuzzy, a strange rush in his veins. He has never been this close to another demigod before, someone so powerful. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and he has no idea what will happen next, but goddamn, whatever it is, he wants it to. Cu is ready to live again, ready to fight for his life or die trying

Gil starts to smile again, leaning down close. His breath is hot against Cu’s face, falling down over his lips.

“Beneath me.” He breathes, and with that, he closes the last gap, pressing his mouth to Cu’s. It’s warm and wet and tastes like wine, damp and intoxicating. He can’t remember the last time he kissed anyone, but he knows it was before he died. The first time, before he knew anything of Heroic Spirits and Holy Grails.

Gil is busy trying to choke him with his tongue, and Cu uses this opportunity to free his arms. He’s not sure if he can summon his spear, but he could probably try and shove Gilgamesh off, or strangle him. His hands are still around his neck, no longer tight enough to cut off breath, but Cu can’t bring himself to make him stop.

He bites his tongue, grinning at Gil starts, pulling back for a moment to glare at him before moving back in, biting at his lips. The taste of blood mixes with beer, and Cu presses into Gil, lips moving roughly against his.

“So this is what you wanted?” Cu laughs breathily in the gaps between motion, his arms finding their way to Gil’s shoulders. He’s getting rid of that godawful coat and throwing it into the woods- he will not fuck someone in that trashy piece of clothing. Gil has given up on his threat of strangulation, working instead on getting Cu out of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, trying to unlatch the belt without pulling away from his mouth.

“Shut up.” Gil growls over his tongue, struggling with his fly. Cu laughs again.

“Modern pants are a bitch, huh?” He pulls back from Gil’s mouth, starting to tug his shirt off. “Guess you haven’t had much action this past decade.” He grins, even when Gil bites at his neck, teeth scraping skin. Cu wriggles out of his pants, trying to get Gil’s off with just his legs. They’re fumbling around on the church roof like a couple of teenagers who have never done it before, desperate and hungry. It’s all so surreal- the alcohol and the spinning stars and those godly vibes roaring in his blood help to detach Cu from the rest of the universe, carrying him into another one where he and the King of Heroes are dying to fuck each others brains out.

“Tired of sucking the priest’s dick?” Cu gasps, surprised as Gil grinds into him, trying to pull off his shirt.

“Would you stop your barking for one minute?” Gilgamesh tries to snap, but his voice hitches a little as Cu grinds back, having gotten Gil’s pants down enough to get to where he wants. Asshole isn’t even wearing any underwear. Go figure.

“Still goin with the dog thing, huh…” Cu pants slightly. “If I’m a dog then what does that make you right now? Dog fucker.” He bites Gil’s shoulder, enough to draw blood, and Gil winces just a little, leaning into him. He’s licking his ear, tongue running between the rim and his hairline, teeth grinding against cartilage. For a moment Cu is swallowed up by white noise, the world vanishing as Gilgamesh’s power surges through him, silent vibrations rushing his brain. Gil’s nails are digging into his skin, energy weaving in through Cu’s veins with just a simple touch. So this is what it feels like, to be with someone else divine. Cu licks the concave of Gil’s neck, letting his teeth run along it. His shoulder is bleeding, thick red leaking down and dripping onto Cu’s chest. Cu licks the wound, biting at it again. Gil is sweaty and gritty and he tastes like magic and sand and the dry desert air. A fine coat of dust, the lingering scent of clay. Anger and loneliness. Hatred.

The pressure is building and Cu starts to go harder. They’re biting like animals, struggling for dominance. Cu is fighting to get on top, but Gilgamesh crushes him down with his innate power. He doesn’t even have to try. It isn’t fair, how little effort he has to put into it, how easy everything is for him. Gil could probably obliterate him right now, if he wanted to. Cu feels electric, energy roaring through his body, rippling in his veins, pushing outward, outward, forever outward. Expanding. Like the universe, like the stars spinning over their heads. The world is lit up with a golden glow, and he’s not sure how much of it has to do with the alcohol that’s still in his brain. He wonders if this is what it was like for Emer. It feels like the little pieces that make him up are shaking, breaking apart. Any minute now he could unwind and blow away in the wind, leaving nothing but a pile of empty cans and dying cigarettes as a sign that he was here.

And none of this means shit in the end. They’re horny and drunk and they’re stuck. No home, no plan for getting out of here, nothing but a creepy church and a sadistic priest to give their lives meaning. Gilgamesh is a possessive little arse and he needs to have everything going exactly his way, he needs to show that he’s got power. Cuchulainn is not worth his time to kill, but a quick fuck is fine. He’s just a toy, an object, good for playing with. If he breaks, so be it, but it’s not like he’s going to go out of his way. Piece of fucking shit. Cu bites the skin where he neck stops and his chin begins, licking off sweat and drawing more blood.

Gil’s nails dig into his cock and Cu bucks, startled, hissing angrily as his bite deepens. Gilgamesh just laughs, breathy and sharp, digging in harder, twisting and rubbing and grinding and gods. It’s rising, that creeping crawling warmth down in his gut, but it’s hotter than it should be, holy flames surging inside of him. He is trying not to but he writhes, burying his own nails in Gil’s back, trying to stay still as his whole being throbs. He can’t. He can’t.

Gil presses down on him, and Cu grunts, moans as his fingers grind up and down and up and down, deeper and deeper and-

it shoots through him like lightning like fire like the entire fucking _ocean_ crashing down on him and he makes a sound he didn’t think he could, digging every tooth and nail he has into Gilgamesh, screaming into his skin. Someone broke the tap and the energy is blasting, full volume, blocking out every sense except that burning fire down below and it’s like he’s being torn from existence being unwritten it hurt it fucking _hurts_ but it feels so good and right here right now he doesn’t care even if it kills him and he doesn’t want it to _stop_

The flames rage and then they die, just like that, and Gil is draped over his chest. He’s sweaty and hot, golden hair falling down around his reddened face in a mess. He is heavy, breathing close to Cu’s ear, damp breath filling the space between. The aftershock is fading fast, a thick lethargy replacing it. Cu stiles a yawn. Gil is silent.

It’s quiet. The house is creaking down below, the trees whisper silently around them, and the loudest sound is their own muffled panting, their bodies winding down, becoming heavy and real. The roar of energy is nothing but static, mellow and crackling just below the surface. Cu stares at the starry mat up above. He half expects Gil to start going at it again, or maybe open up the Gates of Babylon and kill him now, before he has the chance to tell anyone this ever happened. Like he even has anyone to tell. Gil doesn’t though. They just lie there, wordless, close. It’s almost kind of nice. It almost doesn’t feel real.

He feels a slight tug, on his scalp, and from the corner of his eyes he can see Gil running his ponytail through his fingers, staring at the long blue with a strange, almost melancholy look on his face. Even lying there beneath him this moment seems private, something Gil does not want to share, but Cu cannot help noticing.

It’s always been this way. Even before Kotomine had given them separate rooms, they could be lying side by side and Gilgamesh would still be off in some separate world. Distantly, Cu remembers the way he tossed and turned in his sleep. His anguished breaths, the pain and lament pushed into that one word, _Enkidu._ Cu knows he shouldn’t ask and he knows he shouldn’t really care, but he can’t help it. He is curious and alone, and even if this means nothing, it’s nice having someone else to touch. Even if it’s this jerk.

“Who were they?” He murmurs, a hand still on Gil’s head, soft golden feathers brushing against his fingers. Gil shifts somewhat, looking at him gentle curiosity. “Enkidu?”

The static stops, and Cu is engulfed in a silence. Gil is sitting up now, staring down at him, his pupils pinpricked dots against an angry red. His skin is paler than a sheet, blood drained by the realization that you can’t have a private moment when you’re lying on top of another man. _How dare he speak that name._ Cu can read the words on his lips before he even opens his mouth, and he knows he should have left it alone.

“Silence mongrel.” Gilgamesh breathes, his voice the silent hissing of a snake, almost too tired to bare the malice it intends “Worms were not made to speak.”

“It was just a question,” Cu slurs, exhaustion and alcohol mixing nicely inside of him. Gilgamesh is on his knees but he is still above him, always above him, and he’s staring at him like he’s dirt again. Like it’s all he’s ever been and all he will ever be.

“It is not yours to ask.” Gilgamesh spits, on his feet now. Cu thinks he says something else, sits up and shoves him or swears or asks again, but he doesn’t remember. He is tired and drunk and the world is black, silent, numb.

He doesn’t open his eyes until morning.

When he does, he is alone.


End file.
